Page 24 of Witch Please
“The article.” He pointed to my desk, “in the Dartmouth. Did I misunderstand?”
I opened the paper and flipped to the review of our production. I’d only briefly scanned the first few lines where they gave us tepid praise and I’d tossed it aside refusing to be nearly as excited or grateful for their review as Patrick had appeared to be.
“I’m the Shakespeare expert,” explained Dr. Imogen Pilar, who doubled up her role as scriptwriter and the lead role as Macbeth’s witch, explaining how her interpretation brought the complexity of Shakespeare to the masses she continued. “Our adherence to the tenets of the play brings a point in history where they spoke in ways we don’t understand, translates it, and applies it to concepts more in line with current trends and themes. It takes something that is typically associated with intellectualism and creates a beautiful marriage of Shakespeare’s themes: money, power, the lengths we go for such power—and a delivery that is modern and easily understood.”
Gutted. I drown in too many emotions to even give voice to them. The president continued to talk but my ears had gone deaf, hearing only the sound of my own racing pulse. How could she? Why? She’d told me over and again that she had no interest in my position.
“We should all get together sometime after the holidays and discuss your vision for the Spring festival. Will you still doA Midsummer’s Night Dreamor pick something different? It’s a shame Dr. Krane hadn’t been reachable. I think he would have been impressed with what you did here.”
I felt my head nod, my arm came up to shake the president’s hand, my lips agreed with the president,yes after the holidays we’ll get together.I’d love to hear your thoughts. I needed to get him out of my office before I broke down. Over and again my mind asked the same question.Why? And with each utterance of that question, my heart splintered a bit more.
I found myself pacing in front of Imogen’s seminar, willing time to move quicker. Desperate for an explanation. The students had barely begun funneling from her class and I was pushing through the doors, ready to trample any student that stood in my way.
“Why, Imogen? Why would you do this to me!” I tossed the copy ofThe Dartmouthonto her desk, erasing the earnest smile into a startled frown. Even overflowing with bewildered hurt, my heart still thrilled at the warmth in her face when she’d seen me.
“Sebastian. Why not wait in my office, class hasn’t quite finished and I have a few students I need to speak with about their grades going into midterms.” Her hand shook ever so slightly as she pointed to the line of students that formed around her podium. “Whatever has caused this upset, we can discuss when I’m finished. I’d say about twenty minutes.”
Without a word I turned and stormed out.
“Now what is this about?”
She entered her office, pulling the door closed behind her. I sat in her favorite chair; the flowers now covered with the brilliant fall foliage that graced the lawns of campus. In the distance, I could see the remnants of the festival coming down.
“Imogen, you told me you had no interest in my job. You told me repeatedly that you only wanted to helpme. You said you were my friend Imogen.”
She hadn’t yet sat down, rather stood just a few steps away from me, leaning against the windowsill, arms folded, scanning my face as I spoke.
“And what happened between last night and this morning that makes you doubt the truth of everything I’ve said to you in the past twelve weeks?”
Her lips trembled. They looked like I felt. Too soft, too…weak.
“Your statement to the press on Saturday night, apparently.”
“Statement to the press?” Her eyebrows wrinkled together and lips pursed.
I opened the paper I’d been carrying with me like some version of aninsecurity blanket, and pointed to the quote I’d read earlier.
“I’m the Shakespeare expert...” I began, reading the quote in its entirety.
“Sebastian, he took my words out of context.”
“And in what context would there be a reason for you to claim any of the things written here, Imogen? Why would you need to tell him you’re an expert at all? And how does hemisunderstandyou being an actress and writing the bloody play!”
I had too many emotions churning inside me. I felt helpless. Set adrift in the middle of an ocean, not knowing which direction land was located. Unfortunately of all the emotions that clawed within me, it was anger that made it to the surface the fastest.
“Why, Imogen?”
We stared at one another, neither uttering a single word for an eternity. I waited, and waited for her to say something.
“Tell me, Imogen. Whatever it is, tell me what I did that would make you do this?”
Imogen shook her head, eventually cradling it in the palm of her hand.
“Sebastian, I can’t tell you anything else different from what I already have. My words were taken out of context.”
Chapter 19
Sebastian’s upset shook me. Aside from him storming into my class and carrying on in front of my students—that was a conversation for another time—his emotions were like a hurricane, intense and building in strength. Piling on to that confrontation was the business overThe Dartmouthand their quote. I’d never taken credit for Sebastian’s play. I would be calling them next.